


Meet the Larents

by moonygirl76



Series: Shiall [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Always, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And a pinch of angst, And gay stuff, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Domestic Larry, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Im sweating again, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No onscreen Zayn, Safewords, Shiall, Zayn., but he exists, larry - Freeform, yay, yay again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 15:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17769398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonygirl76/pseuds/moonygirl76
Summary: Shawn is in London for the Brit Awards and finally has the chance to meet Harry and Louis.  Which is terrifying. Niall is there to take care of his boy but Shawn also has the chance to return the favor when news of an ex flares up old wounds.





	Meet the Larents

**Author's Note:**

> Same universe as my fic "Sweet like Honey". This takes place after. Can be read separately. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and Comments are always much appreciated.

Meet the Larents

Shawn settles back into the kitchen chair and lets Kristan work her magic fingers along his scalp. His shoulders are almost relaxing. Sort of.

“Thanks for coming out on such late notice,” he says to his hair stylist, wincing a bit as she’s rough with his roots.

  
“It’s not even a problem. Ryan Reynolds has that London movie premiere tomorrow, so I’m always happy to get an earlier flight to extend my stay. I love London. Gonna bring my daughter next time.” She continues to comb her fingers through, as she snips. He had debated whether or not to get a cut or just a style, but he wants everything to be perfect for tonight.

  
When she’s satisfied that he’s groomed to perfection, even subtly neatening his brows for him, she packs up her bag of products. “Good Luck at the Brit’s, young man,” she says, and Shawn freezes. “Oh. Yeah. The Brit’s. Thank you,” he says. He’d actually managed to forget about the Brit’s—happening in three-day’s time. Kristan doesn’t seem to notice his weird response—or is polite enough to ignore it—and gives him a Hollywood air kiss on the way out. She also doesn’t ask whose house this is. She might know, or guess, but she wouldn’t have half of the clients she has without excelling at discretion.

  
Niall arrives home as Shawn’s laying out his clothes, from his travel garment bag, wearing only his boxer briefs. Niall wraps his arms around Shawn and hums, his face pressed into Shawn’s shoulder. He has his hips pressed tight against Shawn, and it’s distracting Shawn in a most pleasant way.  
“Let’s just fuck off and stay home tonight,” Niall says. He flops down on the bed, nearly on top of the set out clothes and pulls down Shawn on top of him, between his legs. Shawn yells out and struggles.

  
“Niall! My vest is getting wrinkled!”

  
Niall lets him go and rolls to one side so Shawn can retrieve the clothes, and then back onto his other side to watch Shawn fuss over the garment. “What you wearing a waistcoat for? You’re not meeting the bleeding Queen, Shawny boy.”

  
“This is more important than meeting the Queen, Niall. No offense,” Shawn says, brushing away invisible wrinkles.

  
“None taken. She’s not my Queen,” Niall says.

  
Shawn pauses in his ministrations to look at Niall. “Oh. Yeah, sorry.” He sets the outfit back down on the bed next to Niall.

  
Niall reaches out his hand to take Shawn’s. “Babe, it’s Lou and Harry. Two of my best friends.”

  
“You see. You say that like that’s supposed to actually make me feel better and not loosen my bladder,” Shawn says.

  
Niall cackles softly and sits up. “I just mean that they already love you. Because I love you.”

  
“Aw.” Shawn steps up and wraps his arms around Niall’s neck and pulls him in so that Niall’s face is pressed against him. He digs his fingertip into Niall’s hair, against his scalp the way that Kristan did to him only an hour before. Niall is positively purring against his chest. He has also clamped both of his hands onto Shawn’s butt cheeks through his boxer briefs. “That sort of helps. Because it was very sweet? Even though you get that I want them to love me for me? But I will let you give me a blow job for being so sweet, but if you mess up my hair in any way, I’m leaving you at home.”

  
Shawn can feel Niall’s lips move against his stomach, as he smiles, and it sends pleasant tingles down both legs. “Just keep up with the scalp massage, yeah?” Niall says, before sliding off the bed onto his knees on the floor.

  
“I was teasing, you don’t have to—” Shawn’s words dissolve into an involuntary moan as Niall reaches a hand into his boxer briefs. He tightens the fingers in Niall’s hair and gets an appreciative noise in return. Niall’s face is so close to where Shawn wants him to be, he can feel the hot breath ghosting along his penis.  
“Massage, Shawny, don’t just pull, love,” Niall says in a throaty growl.

  
“Sorry,” Shawn manages to get out, barely, because Niall is already sucking on the tip.

  
He forces himself to use at least some of his brain cells to concentrate on moving his fingers along Niall’s scalp.

  
What Niall can’t fit in his mouth, he uses one of his talented hands on. The other hand caresses his stomach, and then hip, and any other skin he can reach and the contrast in sensations is so jarring, yet pleasing, that Shawn nearly forgets to use his leg muscles to stay standing.

  
“Whoa there,” Niall says, his voice even croakier than before. Both of his hands are now firmly on Shawn’s hips and he guides him to sit on the bed, with Niall still kneeling. “New plan. Hands on the bed, and just concentrate on not falling over and breaking any bones,” Niall says.

  
Shawn is in that fuzzy place his head gets. There aren’t a lot of words in this place, so he merely nods, doing as Niall says and placing his hands down on either side of his legs on the mattress.

  
“What’s your safeword, love?” Niall says gently, with a hand on Shawn’s thigh.

  
Oh. Shawn knows this. He has to lick his lips and then answers, “Mapleleaf.”

  
“That’s a good lad,” Niall says.

  
Then Niall is back on him with long firm sucks that Shawn can feel in every nerve ending in his body. The pleasure mounts to its peak and he must sort of white out because he comes back to reality in waves. He’s aware of Niall above him, his warm release on Shawn’s stomach, the smooth coolness of the quilt beneath his back, and Niall’s warm sweet voice.

  
“I think I might have got some cum on your waistcoat, love,” Niall says, a trace of laughter in his voice.

  
It takes a second, or four, for Shawn to realize what Niall is saying. He whines, coherently.

  
“Just wear your red hoodie, babe,” Niall says, “Save the waistcoat for the Brit’s, I’ll have it dry cleaned for ya.”

  
“I just want everything to be perfect, Niall.”

  
Niall leans down and kisses Shawn’s neck, and then his mouth, softly. “Nothing is perfect. It’ll be as it should be. But we better get you cleaned up first. I’ve made a mess of you.”

  
Shawn feels a tickle and lifts his head to see Niall tracing a finger through the sticky dampness on Shawn’s stomach. “Don’t looks so smug, your hair is a disaster,” Shawn tells him.

 

Niall takes Shawn’s hand as they move up the walk to the front door. He’s freshly showered, with not-quite-as-perfectly styled hair this time around. But that’s okay. Nothing is perfect, as Niall said. Shawn’s feet stop moving when he sees what looks like two little stuffed moose holding hands on the front step. Their t-shirts say “Harry” and “Louis” respectively. And it hits him. He’s about to enter Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson’s home. That they share together. As a couple. To have them welcome him into their home because he’s dating Niall. Niall Horan.

  
Nope.

  
Shawn starts to tug on Niall’s hand. “No. Niall. No,” he whispers frantically at Niall who is still making forward motion toward the door.

  
The front door opens, and Harry Styles is standing there. Floral scarf adorning is long curls, what looks like a vintage “RUSH” T-shirt, yoga pants, and fuzzy pink old lady slippers. Or plush suede mules? Hard to say.

  
“Hiiiiii,” Harry says, as he breaks into a wide smile and steps back to allow them in. Niall shoots Shawn one more concerned look before stepping over the threshold. He releases Shawn’s hand in order wrap Harry in a tight hug. Shawn steps up behind him and when Niall is released, Shawn finds his manners and holds out a hand. Harry looks both animatedly confused and amused by the action, then says, in his low tone, “We prefer hugs around these parts, if you don’t mind, Shawn.”  
Then he waits patiently, arms raised until Shawn leans into him, then Harry wraps his arms around him and squeezes him tightly. “You’re Home now, Shawn. For as long as you’d like to be, you can call us family.”

  
“Oi, Oi!” comes a shout from the living room. “Stop hogging all the cuddles, love!” Louis slides into the foyer in socked feet. His sweatpants tucked into his high socks. Despite his loud voice, his tone is as gentle and dulcet as it has sounded in Shawn’s headphones since he was thirteen years old. Shawn is very glad that Louis is not in those black skinnies he used to wear or, heaven help him, those sinful suspenders, or this might be ten times more awkward than it already is. Louis is delicate, yet powerful, radiating manic energy, and yet, speaking in a voice that could calm riots. Louis seems to sense the inner crisis and mid lean switches from a hug to a side squeeze and a tap on the back with a crinkly-eyed smile. He is so close and smells like actual heaven. Shawn might forget to breathe. For a time.

  
“Alright there?” Louis asks.

  
“You have a lovely home,” Shawn says, unable to take his eyes off Louis face.

  
“Yes. Thank you. My sexy boyfriend does all the work in that department,” Louis says.

  
Harry steps up and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist from behind, casually resting his hands on the Tommo Tummy. Lord help us all. “I admit have an eye for the delicate and beautiful. And, darling, you know I prefer the word spouse,” Harry says.

  
Louis rolls his eyes dramatically but then spins around to smack a kiss right on Harry’s mouth. “Someday, sunshine, someday.”

  
Shawn turns to Niall to give them a moment of murmured words and soft kisses. “I’m not going to survive,” he mouths.

  
Niall chuckles and rubs Shawn’s back before sliding his coat off his shoulders. “You’re fine. They’re just showing off.”

  
“Shall we adjourn to the living room, gentlemen?” Louis says brightly.

  
They follow as Harry says, “I’ve told you, Lou, to call it the loving room.”

  
“Ack, H,” Niall says, “we don’t need the reminder. Probably every room in this house is a loving room.”

  
Harry shrugs. “That it is, Nialler. That it is.”

  
Louis serves drinks and Harry meets Shawn by where he is admiring a framed picture of Harry with Mick Jagger on the book shelf. “I couldn’t think of a single thing to say,” Harry says, “So, I settled on: ‘Your dancing inspired a lot of my dreams’. And then Mick responded. ‘How many of them were wet?’ and I, of course, told him ‘all of them.’”

  
Shawn smiles. “Does that sort of thing bother Louis? Flirting with Mick Jagger?”

  
Harry scrunches his face. “Why would it bother him? Me getting a harmless, cheeky flirt in with my idol? You should have seen him gush when he met David Beckham. When he finally met David Beckham,” he says, raising his voice at the last.

  
Louis raises his eyebrows in a sassy smile, and Shawn feels like he’s intruding again.

  
“Speaking of Beckham, is Liam gonna show his face tonight?” Niall asks.

  
“Oh! That—"

  
“No, Lou,” Harry interrupts, quietly.

  
“—reminds me,” Louis finishes. Harry and Louis start having an involved conversation with just their eyes, and some animated facial expressions that lasts for several seconds. Then Harry sets down his drink on a coaster.

  
“Shawn. If you follow me, I heard that you might have an interest in seeing my boot collection.”

  
It’s so obvious and abrupt, that Shawn looks to Niall. Niall is frowning at Louis, but at Shawn’s hesitation he turns to give him a tight smile. He takes Shawn’s drink from him and gives him a quiet, “Go on, love. It’s a sight to see.”

It is. A sight to see. There’s a black high-heeled buckled Gucci boot that is divinity itself. The Gold boots via Saint Laurent are giving Shawn heart palpitations. But the pink ones? Shawn just wants to hold them.

“Are you crying?” Harry asks, sitting down next to Shawn in the walk-in closet.

  
“No. That would be weird,” Shawn responds, lifting his face from the boot.

  
“Crying is very manly, Shawn. Do you want to try them on?” Harry asks.

  
“No. I just want to hold them for a little longer. They smell very nice.”

  
“Take as long as you need. You smell very nice, too, by the way. Is it the new Tom Ford? I meant to comment on it earlier. The gentle woodsiness suits you very well.” Harry says, leaning his shoulder against Shawn’s. And Shawn smiles. From anyone else, this would seem like a come-on, but with Harry, he just seems intent on giving a compliment and keeping his mood on the rise.

  
“Thank you.”

  
“Did you notice my shirt?” Harry asks, pointing.

  
“Yes,” Shawn says, nodding enthusiastically. Harry had probably wanted him to comment on it sooner.

  
“They’re Canadian,” Harry says. “And have sold more than 40 million records worldwide.”

  
Shawn smiles. “Did you look them up, because I’m Canadian?”

  
Harry bites his lip and looks suddenly unsure. “I was nervous about you feeling welcome, and that we’d get along. But to be fair, they are actually quite good. I bet Niall would like them.”

  
Shawn nods. “He does. He loves them, actually.” Shawn sets the pink boot aside—gentle as he would be with a small animal. “What’s going on with Niall? Is everything okay?” Shawn asks.

  
“Of course,” Harry says.

  
“Why did Louis need to talk to Niall alone then?”

  
Harry shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready. I don’t want to speak for him, you understand,” Harry says.

  
“Oh. I wouldn’t want you to, if it’s private.”

  
Harry nods. “We can go back, if you want. Niall isn’t—" Harry pauses, as if being careful with his words. “Niall, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, isn’t the best at talking about his feelings. Doesn’t like to be bogged down emotionally. Writing his album was so therapeutic as a way to face . . . things that happened. Actually, it might have been suggested by his therapist. Or Louis. Or both.”

  
“Niall has a therapist?”

  
“Of course. All of us do. Don’t you?” Harry asks.

  
“No?”

  
“You should. Everyone should.”

  
There’s a silence, but neither one makes a move stand. “He hasn’t talked to me about . . . his past. But obviously I’ve heard the album. Clearly someone hurt him,” Shawn says. It’s not a question.

  
Harry nods. He puts his arm around Shawn. Again, Shawn can tell that this isn’t a come-on, but rather a mixture of Harry worrying about Shawn’s emotional well-being, and maybe Harry’s own need for tactile reassurance.

  
“You’re very good for Niall. He sent me that clip of the two of you singing that song you’re working on. You can tell, you know, when people sing together? There’s a matching sometimes . . . not just harmonically, but of two souls.” Harry tilts his head. “I think that’s from a Foo Fighters song actually. But I digress. You are well matched. Don’t worry. He’ll talk about everything with you soon. He’s just often too busy lifting everyone else up that he doesn’t always know how to let someone else do the heavy lifting.”

They return to the living room to find Niall alone on the couch. He looks up when they enter the room.

“Tommo went to check on the roast,” he says.

  
Harry’s voice goes from that morbid baritone to a dramatic screech. “You let him go into my kitchen? Alone?”

  
“I heard that you little twat,” Louis voice calls from down the hallway, toward the back of the house.

  
“Excuse me,” Harry says, to Niall and Shawn, once again in his monotone, before exiting the room.

  
Shawn sinks down next to Niall and puts his arm around him. Niall looks over and says, “If they are not back in twenty minutes, we drop everything and leave. Once the sex starts, it can go on for hours. I’ve had too many sleepless nights sharing a wall with those dirty buggers, I shit you not.”

  
Shawn smiles. “Is everything alright? Between you and Louis?”

  
“’Course. He just was telling me that someone was trying to reach me through Liam. An old friend.” He shakes his head. “No. Sorry. An old boyfriend. I’m not used to being so open about it.”

  
“It’s alright. And this is the boyfriend that you . . . wrote the album about?”

  
Niall exhales long and slow. He sets his drink down on the coaster in front of him and runs both hands through his hair. “It’s like a wound. As soon as it heals, he seems to come around and tear it open.” His blue eyes reach Shawn’s face as he continues. “I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it, to be fair. I’m sure he didn’t know at first, because I’d never say anything. Didn’t know how to say anything to him except yes.”

  
“So, what? He’s going to want to get back together? Or sleep with you?” Shawn asks.

  
“No,” Niall says, shaking his head, “He’s not that cruel. Or stupid. List of people who wouldn’t allow that for one. It’s just . . . it aches. That wound won’t ever heal completely. So even, like last time, getting in touch to ask for a damn referral for a gardener, of all things, just puts me months behind on my recovery.”

  
Shawn swallows. He’s been hurt a bit. Rejected or wronged. Disappointed. But never heartbroken. He can only imagine.

  
“Shawny, whether he gets in touch or not, you know I’m not going anywhere, right?” He runs a finger down Shawn’s cheek.  
Shawn swallows. “Of course.”

 

Dinner is an animated affair. Louis is at the head of the table, with Harry next to him. The two of them alternate constantly between banter and canoodling. PDA, in their safe space, is obviously not something that they are opposed to. Shawn can’t help but feel touched that they trust him with it.

  
Despite getting lost in their bubble several times, they don’t neglect their guests for long. Louis asks after their families and is interested in what they are both working on. Harry keeps their glasses full and offers seconds and even thirds of the roast and all the sides until they both wave him away.

  
Liam arrives as the dessert is being served. Brandy and what Harry calls “spotted dick.” Shawn is on the fence whether or not they’re having him on about that. Especially when Harry confesses to preferring it with “cream” instead of custard. Harry keeps a straight face, but the other boys are giggling. “Well. Who doesn’t prefer a mouthful of cream?” Shawn asks, blushing as the laughter erupts around the table.

  
“I think some of that cream has come out me nose,” Liam says after he can catch his breath.

  
“Well, then you are doing something very wrong,” Shawn tells him.

  
“Ah, bless,” Liam says, after the laughter dies down once again. He takes a sip of his brandy. “So, Niall, as I was telling Louis, Zayn messaged me on Twitter about getting your number.”

  
Shawn starts to choke on his brandy. He’s making a scene of it, but he can’t help it. He sucked in a breath so suddenly that he’s sure the drink is well into his lungs. Liam, beside him, starts to thump him on the back and it’s not immediately clear if it’s helping or hurting. He can see that Niall is on his feet, but he waves him away from coming around the table. When the sputtering stops, and the breaths are air only and not liquid he wipes his face with his napkin. The table is silent. “Fuck me,” Shawn finally says, without fully intending to.

  
Liam is looking around at the faces looking at him and taking in the silence of the table. “Did I say something?” he asks.

  
Louis starts to swear at Liam. Harry looks to Niall and so does Shawn. Niall’s face has gone uncharacteristically blank. He sits down, and then almost immediately stands back up when Harry reaches for him. “Thanks for dinner, H. Always spot on,” he calls above the din of the room.

  
Louis and Liam stop arguing to look at Niall as well.

  
“Niall, mate, I’m so sorry,” Liam says, standing. “I thought he knew.”

  
“It’s fine, Li,” Niall says, then finally looks over to Shawn.

  
Shawn wants to echo the sentiment to assure both Niall and Liam, and the rest, that everything is indeed fine. That there’s nothing to be upset about that Zayn fucking Malik is Niall’s ex-boyfriend, who he can’t seem to let go of. The one he can’t seem to stop loving completely. He wants it to be okay. He wants it to be okay that while he thought the person stayed nameless because Shawn wouldn’t have known him, that there’s no secret to that. No deliberate reason Niall kept it a secret. Kept Zayn a secret.

  
Zayn Malik. Shawn has come a long way in the self-esteem department, despite his anxiety. Having millions of fans, a team of supportive people and selling Platinum records does actually help. However, Shawn is not sure anyone could stand next to Zayn Malik and not feeling like they are being sucked into a black hole of inadequacy. Of all the people in this world.

  
His throat feels tight and he clenches his fists open and closed, open and closed under the table. Though Niall drops his gaze, Shawn can feel the rest of them still staring. They are all silent, though surely searching for something to say.

  
“Shawn,” Niall says, softly.

  
“Can get help clearing?” Harry says, standing suddenly and frantically grabbing two plates. Both Liam and Louis jump to their feet as well, doing the same.  
“The brandy, Li! Grab the bloody brandy!” Louis whisper yells as he half runs, half slides (still in socks) through the door that leads to the kitchen. Harry and Li follow and the door slams, once again covering the dining room in quiet stillness.

  
“Come with me?” Niall asks, coming around the table and holding a hand out to Shawn.

  
Shawn doesn’t trust his voice yet, but he trusts Niall, so he takes his hand. Niall leads him to the third floor of the house, into a large room with an Irish flag over a queen-sized bed with a lush blue duvet. Under the window is a cozy looking settee couch with an acoustic guitar propped up next to it. Niall leads him to sit down on the settee.

  
“This, as you can probably tell, is my room. Anytime I want to crash out of the blue or when we’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

  
Niall gathers Shawn’s hand in his own and pulls it to his chest. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I didn’t mean to lie.”

  
“Why didn’t you just tell me? I assumed it was someone I didn’t know.”

  
“I didn’t tell you because there’s exactly three people I’ve ever talked to about my history with Zayn, save my therapist, and they’re all downstairs. Four people in the entire world. Even them, I didn’t talk to at first. Not in 2010 when it was love at first sight, and not in 2012 when things got serious between us. I wasn’t about to start talking about it when he broke it off in 2014, no sir, and I sure as hell wasn’t up for talking about it when we were on again off again as he pulled farther and farther away from me and the rest of the band, until he finally left for good in the middle of the night in March 2015.”

  
Shawn lets out a breath. “You’re right. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

  
“No. But, Shawny, I want to. I want to tell you,” Niall says, his voice cracking. “I keep messing this up, and the last thing on this earth I want to do is to mess us up.”

  
“You’re not messing anything up. I’m right here.” Shawn gets his arms around Niall and tugs against his initial resistance to pull him against him. “I’ll just have to get over the fact that it was Zayn Malik, who I didn’t even consider human or fallible until he left the band.”

  
“He’s very human,” Niall says.

  
“An astonishingly pretty human though,” Shawn says back.

  
“Come on, now,” Niall scolds. “Is that what you’re on about? He is a pretty human, sure. But Shawn you’re gorgeous. Inside and out. You’re like sunshine incarnate.”

  
Shawn sighs, running a hand through Niall’s hair. “I don’t mean to be needy, but keep telling me that a lot as I try not to dwell on you having sex with Zayn Malik and then having sex with me and not curl up into a ball and cry until I drown in an ocean of my own insecurity.”

  
Niall shakes his head. “I’m trying to process how you are with me, and yet you seem to see every member of One Direction as sexier than I am.”

  
“I’m with you because I didn’t put you on a pedestal. There are many a day where I cannot believe I slept on Niall Horan. You know, before I slept with Niall Horan. But also, because you approached me, I’d never have had the guts for that. I may have been late to the game, but I can see now that you’re the grand slam of my heart.”

  
Niall tips his head to the side, looking up at Shawn. “It’s like you’re the Canadian Harry, and yet I somehow still want to have sex with you.” He shakes his head, like trying to will away the image. “Let’s not dwell on that thought either.”

  
Shawn giggles. “Let’s just dwell on the us-having-sex part. Don’t hate me, but did you and Zayn have sex in here?”

  
“In here?” Niall asks. “No. This is a new house. New room. New everything.”

  
“And no other guys? Or girls?”

  
“How exactly would I bring someone here and then wake up for a quaint breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Larry Stylinson? That’s a bit tricky to explain away.”

  
“So. Just me, then?”

  
Niall runs his hand along Shawn’s hip. “Just us, baby. Always.”

  
“I didn’t bring anything.”

  
“Shawn, if you don’t think there’s lube and condoms in every room in this house, then you’ve not been paying very good attention.”

  
Niall moves off Shawn and over to the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. He sets them next to Shawn, who has scooted so he’s sitting at the edge of the settee, but motions with his hand that Shawn shouldn’t get up. Shawn watches as Niall peels off his shirt and eagerly wants to reach out to put his hands on that wonderful tuft of golden-blond hair in the middle of his chest. He waits. Because Niall told him to.

  
Niall peels off his slacks next, and when he returns to Shawn on the settee he’s only wearing his boxers. Niall taps Shawn on his elbows, indicating for him to raise his arms, and he does so. Slipping Shawn’s hoodie, and then his T-shirt over his head, he then gently nudges Shawn’s shoulder, so that he reclines against the back of the settee.

  
Shawn looks up, when he realizes that Niall isn’t moving, to find him staring at him, his eyes roaming his chest, stomach, back to his shoulders, up his neck and finally to his face.

  
“Gorgeous,” he says. And Shawn feel his face heat up, though he’s pleased with the attention. Niall knees down and taps Shawn’s hip. Shawn lifts his hips dutifully allowing Niall to slide down his pants and boxer briefs and replacing his T-shirt so it is underneath him.

  
Niall slides both hands up Shawn’s thighs and again his gaze is admiring and hungry as he lets it roam over Shawn’s naked body. Shawn feels himself harden under the attention alone.

  
Niall picks up the bottle of lube and asks for Shawn’s safeword. Shawn gives it to him.

  
“What’s your safeword, Niall?” Shawn asks in a hushed tone.

  
Niall carries on caressing Shawn’s knee, and then the inside of his thigh, until Shawn wonders if Niall didn’t hear him, or is choosing not to answer. “Clover,” Niall says, looking up at Shawn finally, with a smile. Shawn, smiling back, nods.

  
After Niall warms some lube between his fingers, he encourages Shawn to keep his knees open wide. Shawn hands a throw pillow to Niall for his own knees and makes sure he’s comfortable before complying.

  
Shawn’s eyes close on their own accord as Niall breaches him with his first finger, already relishing in pleasure of the pressure inside him.

  
“Open your eyes, baby,” Niall says. Shawn complies, to find Niall looking at him again. His face full of warm love and appreciation when he looks over Shawn. When his gaze drops between his legs, Shawn’s knees begin to shut, an automatic reflex to the intimacy of it all. Niall stops him with a gentle, but firm hand on his inner thigh.

  
“So gorgeous, love. Nothing to be shy about,” Niall tells him, as his eyes fix on the place where his finger moves in and out of Shawn. Shawn feels himself flush all over, his face in particular feels as if it’s on fire. When Niall glances up again he seems to notice, his eyes catching on Shawn’s cheeks and down his chest.

  
He inches forward, hooking his free hand around Shawn’s neck and pulls him forward into a kiss, his tongue touching Shawn’s as his finger presses deeper, brushing against his prostate. Shawn moans into Niall’s mouth, not breaking the kiss. Shawn’s hands come up to Niall’s face, and Niall pulls away just far enough to scold him quietly about keeping his hands down until he’s told otherwise, then resumes his plunder of Shawn’s mouth.

  
When Niall releases him, he adds another finger to the first, watching Shawn’s face for any discomfort, but also maintaining that look of awe and love.  
As he continues to stretch Shawn, Niall also begins to brush his lips across the sensitive skin of his Shawn’s inner thighs. The brushes become kisses, and teasing licks, and as he begins a full-on assault of Shawn’s prostate he also works on sucking and biting a bruise just inside Shawn’s right thigh.

  
Shawn feels himself slipping into that delicious headspace where there is no worry, where he can surrender himself knowing that Niall will take care of him. But he holds back, because he wants Niall to know that he can take care of him, too. That sometimes it can be Niall that lets go and trusts Shawn. In fact, this thought won’t leave him alone. Niall is always taking care of Shawn, but in a good relationship, shouldn’t Shawn also be working to make sure Niall is taken care of?

  
“Niall?”

  
“Not yet, love,” Niall responds.

  
“Niall. I—Do you—” Holy shit. He can’t form sentences with Niall rubbing his prostate.

“Stop,” Shawn says. And everything does. Niall’s mouth leaves the mark that he’s working on, on the skin of Shawn’s right inner thigh, and his fingers leave Shawn and, in fact, Shawn is sure that every point of contact has been severed. He opens his eyes to find that Niall has moved away several inches. That’s not exactly what Shawn was thinking.

  
Shawn still has yet to find the words to what he wants, and now is having trouble finding words to erase that look on Niall’s face—like something is wrong.

  
“Nothing is wrong,” Shawn says quickly. “It’s just not . . . in the way . . . how it could . . . be?” Niall doesn’t move. Shawn might not be making sense. He’s ruining this, and he doesn’t know how to get that look off Niall’s face, let alone ask for what he wants.

  
Niall moves slowly, eyes never leaving Shawn, wipes his hands on his discarded T-shirt, and sits next to him on the settee—still not touching him. He seems to be waiting for Shawn.

  
Shawn takes a deep breath and climbs on to Niall’s lap, straddling him on the settee. He wraps his long arms around Niall’s neck. At first Niall doesn’t respond, then he feels Niall’s fingers, hesitant at Shawn’s hips. Then slowly, he brings them up to encircle Shawn and buries his face in Shawn’s neck.  
“I’m fine,” Shawn says. “I just needed a pause.”

  
Niall doesn’t say anything at first, just brushing his lips back and forth along Shawn’s collar bone. “You did the right thing, then. Just scared me, is all,” Niall says. “I thought maybe I hurt you.”

  
“No.” Shawn pulls back. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just started thinking—”

  
“Clearly doing something wrong, then,” Niall mumbles against Shawn’s chest.

  
“—about what Harry said earlier. He said that you don’t always let others do the heavy lifting.”

  
Niall blinks at him. “First off, please don’t talk about Harry while we are naked.”

  
Shawn rolls his eyes. “Sorry.”

  
“Secondly, are you talking about topping? Do you want to top me?”

  
“Oh.” Oh. “Oh!” Oh. “That’s—I wasn’t. I never—”

  
“Breathe, love.”

  
Shawn breathes. “Maybe? Sometime? Someday? But I just had a sudden thought about being on top, without topping exactly.” Shawn could feel his face flush again. He sounded like a freaking virgin. He thinks he even knows what it’s called, but he’s not sure he can say it out loud. “Can I—Could I . . .” Shawn leans forward again, and Niall tips his ear towards Shawn’s mouth helpfully. “ . . . ride you?” Shawn whispers.

  
Niall’s head falls into the back of the settee and his hand is suddenly between them, palming himself through his boxers. Niall is mumbling under his breath something unintelligible. In fact—

  
“Is that Gaelic?” Shawn asks. “What are you saying?”

  
Niall lifts his head back up. “I said, you’ll be the death of me.”

  
Shawn feels his face heat again, this time because he feels very pleased with himself for getting such a reaction from Niall.

  
“Up, love,” Niall says, as he frees his legs enough to slide down his boxers.

  
“Let me,” Shawn says, picking up the bottle of lube from the cushion of the settee. He coats Niall generously before sitting up on his knees. Niall stills him with his hands on his hips.

  
“Slowly, love,” Niall says.

  
Shawn nods before reaching behind himself to guide Niall to his entrance. They cry out in unison as Shawn eases all the way down until he’s seated fully again on Niall’s hips. Niall is gripping his hips tightly, breathing deeply as he seems to be trying to ground himself. Shawn leans forward, his lips brushing the shell of Niall’s ear, “Let me,” he says.

  
Ever so carefully, Shawn begins to raise up down slowly, experimenting with both rhythm and angle to best maximize the pleasure for both him and Niall. Niall, for his part, does allow Shawn to take control, to lead the way, merely wrapping his arms around Shawn and keeping him deliciously close. Shawn wraps his own arms around Niall’s neck breathing wetly against his neck as the heat builds between them.

  
“Close,” Niall says, holding Shawn tighter against him, creating a friction for Shawn to work against. In the end, all it takes is a deliberate roll of Shawn’s hips and they come together in mirrored cries that echo through the small room.

  
Shawn whole body is limp against Niall.

  
“Perfect, baby,” Niall coos, fingers gliding along Shawn’s back. “You were perfect for me.”

 

 

The next morning is indeed a quaint breakfast around a large round kitchen table with Mr. and Mrs. Larry Stylinson. And Liam. Who is cheery and humming as he chews on his toast on avocado. Harry hands Shawn a green juice to go with his Corn Flakes.

  
“Where the bloody hell did you find an avocado in my kitchen?” Louis asks as he chews on the egg on toast Harry has made for him.  
“Harry buys them for me,” Liam says.

  
Harry raises an eyebrow. “I do. However, it is still disgusting, Liam. Filthy habit,” he says.

  
“So is how much I love you,” Liam says, smacking a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

  
“Oi! Grubby avocado hands off me boyfriend,” Louis says, from the other side of Harry.

  
“Spouse, love. You know that I prefer that you call me spouse,” Harry says.

  
“Well you’d think with all those bloody rings I’ve bought you, one of them would mean you’d marry me.”

  
“They all mean I’m married to you, love.”

  
They kiss. Then kiss again, lingering on each other’s lips.

“Spouses, we have a visitor,” Niall says.

  
“I’m not a visitor, Niall. I’m family. And I don’t mind. At all,” Shawn says, not taking his eyes off Harry and Louis as he spoons a bite of Corn Flakes into his mouth. He squeals when Niall pinches him under the table.

  
“Would you like to come with me for a run, Shawn?” Harry asks. “Niall will come too, won’t you Niall? I can find you both a pair of trackies?”  
Shawn agrees and thanks him.

  
“What about me, then?” Liam asks. “Aren’t I invited?”

  
“No, lad. You’re going to play a little footie with me in the back lawn,” Louis says.

  
Harry rises and moves though the kitchen and Louis watches him go, eyes trailing up and down the backs of Harry’s legs, before pushing away his plate and following him.

  
Liam throws up his hands. “Well. There goes that plan. You’ll see. They’re going to be shagging for hours now. Then it’s fifty-fifty after that if Harry will be fit for a run, and Louis will be down for a nap, mark my words.” He sighs. “I’m gonna use the loo and make a call, boys.”

  
Shawn turns to Niall. “Have you figured out what to do about Zayn?”

  
Niall drains the rest of his tea. He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  
Shawn clasps Niall’s hand. “I’m not a therapist, but while I support you in whatever you decide, I just want to remind you that you can say ‘no’ to him. Coffee, talk, sex, gardener referrals, etc. If you want or need to say no to Zayn, or anyone else, then you should do that. You don’t owe him anything. You don’t even owe him an explanation. My mother is always saying that you have to set emotional boundaries. Set them thick. Like insulation in an ice fishing shanty.”

  
Niall doesn’t say anything for a minute then buries his face in Shawn’s neck. “I love you. And with exception to the weird Canadian analogy, I do think that’s exactly what my therapist would say.”

  
“I love you, too. And my Canadian analogies are not weird, they’re regionally accurate.”

  
Niall places several kisses onto Shawn’s waiting mouth, then leans in closer to whisper in his ear. “What do you say we skip the running? I’ll draw you a hot bath at home.”

  
“How about I draw you a bath, eh?” Shaw asks back.

  
Niall looks him in the eyes, before kissing him long and slow. “How about. We take a bath together and then have a nice chat, exploring the idea of you topping.”

  
Shawn’s mouth goes dry. “Y-yeah.”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“Yes, please, Niall.”

  
“Alright. Let me get our coats?”

  
“Leave them.”

Niall’s phone buzzes as they are pulling out of the driveway. He glances at it and giggles before tipping it to show Shawn. It’s a text from Liam. It reads: Wankers.


End file.
